


Paradigm

by MintChocolateLeaves



Series: Mint's Multiverse [7]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 15:52:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintChocolateLeaves/pseuds/MintChocolateLeaves
Summary: Kaito became KID to get revenge against the organisation that killed his father. Except... His father's not dead. Oneshot.[For the prompt: #13 - 'I hate you. But I think I hate myself more.']





	Paradigm

Kaito supposes it’s only natural that he’s wearing red, because he is  _bleeding._

Not in a physical sense. He’s not punctured skin, hasn’t harmed himself physically. The suit is naturally red – he’s abandoned the black jacket, is standing only in a blood red shirt, collar slightly raised, – and maybe it’s fitting. Maybe, when Aoko had picked out the suit they’d wear for dinner tonight, she’d  _known_ that this was going to happen.

It’s unlikely, but Kaito feels like it’s his subconscious that’s been warning him this whole time. He’ll have to apologise later to Aoko for being unable to make dinner, but… Something more important has forced it’s way into his life.

Or rather:  _back_ into his life.

“Kaito?”

He bristles at the voice. It’s been such a long time that, within theory, he shouldn’t recall it. The way words are formed, the way some words are emphasised more than others. But well… Kaito’s had recordings and he’s listened to all of them over the years, countless times – he’s repeated them over and over until words are seared into his memory, a white scalding pain that’s never quite healed.

“I’m…” Kaito turns his eyes away, “I’m going to be late for dinner. With Aoko.”

It’s an excuse, mumbled because he can’t find the words for what he’s trying to say. Hesitation gushes from his words and maybe he should be wearing a  _poker face,_ maybe he should be following the advice of a man he’s admired all his life but well… he’s not.

Kuroba Toichi clears his throat – nervousness? Or irritation? Nothing shows in his expression – and Kaito realises that his advice doesn’t matter. Everything Kaito had thought to be true about his father  _isn’t,_ so how can he trust the advice not to be false?

He can’t; So he sheds his poker face and decides to be  _just_ Kaito.

“Aoko won’t mind if your late,” Toichi says, as if he knows. As if he’d stuck around long enough to learn enough about Aoko’s development into a woman. He doesn’t even know his own son, how can Kaito trust him enough to know how Aoko will feel about something?

The answer: He can’t.

“Don’t speak for her,” Kaito says. He feels like he should be snapping, but… his anger isn’t blinding, isn’t some boiling lava settling in his stomach, threatening to bubble over or erupt. His anger is muted, faraway and unapproachable. It’s cold, as if he’s found his way into a blizzard and is lost, unable to find any sort of outlet for how he’s feeling. “You don’t know her.”

Toichi – Kaito can’t even come to think of him as  _Dad._ He buried his father years ago, he’s not about to exhume him now – crosses his arms. He takes a step towards Kaito, but stops when Kaito backs away. This man… this man isn’t who Kaito remembers.

“I’m a good disguise artist,” He says, “and part of that requires knowing people.”

Kaito suppresses a snarl, decides that he can’t just let himself come off as wild and as affected as he is. Instead, he mimics his father, crosses his own arms over him and pretends he’s applying pressure to a wound as he digs nails into his arms.

“You’re not that good.”

“You were young when I acted as KID,” Toichi says, and he’s flippant with his responses, almost uncaring. How he’s so calm – ha, Kaito can’t believe that he’d even thought his father wouldn’t be. That was all he ever really was when he’d been a child. Detached, wearing the same old poker face. “But I was very effective at what I did.”

“People are unpredictable.” Kaito uncrosses his arms, doesn’t want to mirror someone who’s lied to him. Instead, he finds himself mimicking Hakuba’s stance from heists when he’s stood waiting for KID to arrive. One foot in front of the other – only slightly, but with both feet a reasonable distance away from the other. Alert, ready to run at any moment, but comfortable.

How strange; Right now Kaito feels like he can trust  _Hakuba_ more than his own father, and the former has never faltered in his plan to capture him.

“Not when you know enough about them.” Toichi says. “Everyone reacts in set paradigms that depend on their personalities, you know that. I  _taught_ you that.”

 _No,_ Kaito bites the inside of his cheek,  _your recordings taught me that._

“You can’t predict how someone will feel about things.” Kaito says. It had taken him a long time to realise it. Even with his smarts, and high IQ. Even with his understanding of people and his night-job as Kaitou KID. He’d only realised when Aoko had learned the truth, when Akako had mixed hate and a crush together.

“Of course you can.” Toichi says. “I predicted you’d be hurt when you’d find out I’m alive. A little angry. And look – you are.”

Despite himself, Kaito laughs. It’s dry, bitter. The sound of a man who’s realised everything’s a lie: His motives to steal. He’d broken his own morals because he’d thought he needed some sort of vengeance, some  _revenge_. And now – he’s spent years trying to steal back something that had never been taken from him in the first place.

“A  _little_ angry?” Kaito’s voice is like ice. It’s cold, sharp around the edges. Everything is a lie. “I guess you’re stupid paradigms have failed you, because I’m not just a little angry. Try again.”

No – it’s not just anger. And hurt.

It is betrayal squeezing onto his intestines, leaving him feeling like he wants to disappear. There is regret fusing with confusion. Pain and isolation mixing together with joy. A kaleidoscope of emotions that only seems to spiral down, forming one emotion that he dwells on the most.

“So there’s more anger than I’d assumed,” Toichi says, “but I’m not wrong.”

Kaito shakes his head. He bites his tongue until he tastes blood, so that he’s  _actually bleeding_  and not just feeling like his is. He swallows, and while he’s only swallowing air, it lodges itself in his throat. And it  _hurts._ “I’d hate to explain to you what you already know,  _seeing as you know me so well,_ but it’s not that.”

Toichi arches an eyebrow. It’s about as much of a response that Kaito’s going to receive.

“I’m pretty sure that right now, I hate you.” Kaito says. And he swallows again, refusing to say any more. It’s not until he’s turned away that he even lets himself think the rest.  _But I think I hate myself more._


End file.
